Heave a Sigh or a Wish
by EpicBuffalo
Summary: Putting up Matthew's Christmas tree had been tradition for so long that Alfred barely thought about it anymore. Putting up another tree didn't seem like a big deal, except that it was.


_Kink meme de-anon. It's always terrifying to start writing stuff for a new fandom, so I hope this isn't too terrible. _

_Enjoy! :)_

* * *

Hefting his axe over his shoulder, Canada scrutinized the tall tree before him from every angle. It was tall and full, and he couldn't see any bare spots. It was about the same size no matter which way you looked at it- no ugly bulging sections. Its colour was bright and vibrant, particularly against the stark, snowy backdrop.

It was, in short, a storybook Christmas tree.

Grinning to himself, Canada set to work chopping down the tree. Each year was the same process, and though it wasn't always easy to find the perfect tree, he always managed, and it was always worth it.

Soon the tree was cut, dragged back to his truck, and loaded in to prepare for the long drive to his brother's house.

* * *

A knock at America's door distracted him from his experiments in the kitchen, trying different combinations of food colouring in his cake batter to see what he could create. He wiped his rainbow-dyed hands absentmindedly on his pants as he made his way to his front door, which opened to reveal a snow-dusted England. Next to him stood a medium-sized green tree, which left a shower of needles on America's doorstep.

"Oh, hey Arthur!" America greeted with his signature grin. "Whatcha got there?"

"It's a tree, you idiot, what does it look like?" The teasing grin on England's face softened the words. "I thought I'd come by for a visit, and figured you probably hadn't gotten yours yet, so." He shrugged his shoulders to get some of the snow off. "Are you going to let me in or what?"

"Oh, of course! How unheroic of me to leave you standing out in the cold like that!" America held the door open wider, and Arthur brushed past him, dragging the tree along as he went. "Hey, careful with that! My whole house is going to smell like an air freshener."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he adjusted his grip on the tree's trunk. "Yes, and wouldn't that just be tragic..." He surveyed the other nation's house, taking in the decorating he'd already done. "Been hard at work, have you, Alfred?" It seemed there wasn't a single inch of the house that wasn't covered in the American's handiwork, from the snowflake decals stuck to the windows to the little Christmas village on an end table- complete with glitter-covered cotton to resemble snow- to the little wooden sleigh filled with chocolates.

"Yeah, doesn't it look awesome? Did you see the sleigh and reindeer on the roof? I just got them this year. I'm pretty proud of them."

"Uh, yes... Now then, where should we put this?" Arthur asked, dragging Alfred's attention back to the tree he was still supporting.

"Oh! Well when I put up Matt's tree, it always goes in the other room in front of the window." He jerked his head in the other direction. "Come on, over here."

Pulling the tree along behind him, Arthur said, "Oh, that's right, I had forgotten that Matthew gets your tree every year. My mistake, should I just take this one and go...?"

"Nah, it's cool. Mattie won't mind! He can get my tree again next year, right?" Something niggled at the back of Alfred's mind, but he pushed it away. Matthew wouldn't get upset over something like this, would he?

Working the rest of the afternoon, the two nations placed the tree in the stand and, after about half an hour adjusting it so it was straight, covered it in America's boxes of decorations. By the time they were finished there was so much tinsel on the floor that it was a genuine slipping hazard, and more than one glass ball had fallen to the floor and smashed ("No big deal," Alfred said when Arthur broke one and stuttered out an apology. "Happens all the time. Why do you think they're so mismatched?").

Afterwards they sampled some of Alfred's Christmas cookies- which were a horrendously bright pink but tasted surprisingly good- and England announced he had to leave.

* * *

Matthew arrived at Alfred's house a few days later, on the same day he did every year, and his brother was expecting him. The door was thrown open before the Canadian was even at the top of the steps, and as soon as he was within range he was pulled into a warm hug, squishing Kumajiro between them.

"Hey, Mattie!"

"Hi, Al," Matthew said, more quietly but just as happily. As they separated from their embrace, grinning, Canada stepped back and surveyed the elaborate lights on his brother's house. "You've really outdone yourself this year, eh?"

"You bet! Come on in, have some cookies!" He grabbed Matthew's arm, dragging him into the comforting warmth of his home. Matt kicked off his boots and shrugged off his heavy jacket before following Alfred the rest of the way inside.

Taking a cookie from the plate Al shoved into his face, Matthew took his time observing the decorations in his brother's house. It was probably too much, and truthfully looked pretty tacky in places, but Matt loved Alfred's house at Christmas. It was warm and inviting, and always felt like home. Sneaking a handful of chocolate from the little sleigh into his pocket, he finished his cookie and wiped the crumbs from his hands.

"Well then," he said, "let's get started, shall we?"

"Oh, that's right," Alfred said from the kitchen, where he'd gone to return the plate. "You don't need to worry about the tree this year, Mattie. Arthur took care of it!"

Matthew was unable to stop the smile from sliding off his face, and he was grateful his brother was in the other room. "O-oh, he did?"

"Yeah, he stopped by the other day, figured I hadn't gotten my tree yet- it's pretty cool that everyone wants to get my tree for me every year!" At this point he had reentered the room, and Matthew forced a polite smile back onto his face. "Come see how it turned out!"

In all honesty, the tree looked fine. It was messy, and in some places ornaments were clustered while other spots were a bit bare, but it was clear that the people who had decorated it had enjoyed themselves. It was the kind of Christmas tree that creates fond memories, and those are the best kind.

"Looks great, Al," Matthew forced himself to say, and he internally chided himself for letting this get to him. _It's not a big deal, Alfred didn't mean anything by it, there's always next year..._ But he could still feel the hurt bubbling up in his stomach, and he knew he had to leave. Clearing his throat and hoping he could fake nonchalance, he said, "Geez, Al, I just remembered I have somewhere I need to be." He turned back in the direction of the door. "Sorry. I'll stop by another time, eh?"

Alfred's eyes were widened in confusion as he watched his brother pull on his coat and boots. "What? But Mattie, you just got here! We didn't even do Christmas carols or eggnog!"

"I know, I'm sorry. Some other time, I promise." And then he was gone, leaving a bewildered Alfred to stare at the door and wonder what had happened.

* * *

That night, a nightmare kept America from sleeping.

Except that, unlike most nightmares, this one had actually happened, on a typical winter morning in 1917.

He'd taken a few days to visit Matthew in Halifax, on the eastern coast of Canada. Halifax Harbour was an important port for the ongoing war effort, and Matthew tried to do his best to make sure everything was running smoothly. There had been no problems thus far, and Matthew had already decided he wouldn't be staying in the city much longer, but on this morning he had decided to relax and have breakfast with his brother.

The building they were staying in overlooked the harbour, and Matthew calmly observed the ships on the water as, in the kitchen behind him, Alfred sang to himself while he cooked.

"Hey, Mattie!" his brother called. "Aren't you going to come help? You always holler at me when I do the pancakes wrong."

"That's because you always do the pancakes wrong," Matthew whispered under his breath, but nonetheless turned back toward the kitchen.

What happened next would be etched into both of their minds forever.

Whistles from the harbour caused Matt to turn back toward the window, and his brow furrowed as he observed the scene on the water. Two ships drew ever closer to each other, alternating whistle blasts but neither altering her course. It was almost comical, and Matt could see other people on the waterfront watching the scene just as closely as he was. _ What the hell are they doing?_

Another whistle blast, and suddenly one of the ships swung to the side- directly into the other. It wasn't long before smoke began to rise from the damaged ship, and Matt shook his head in disbelief. "Jesus, Al, did you see that? A couple of ships just collided in the harbour. Looks like one of them's on fire."

"Whoa, are you serious? What were they doing?"

Matt shrugged as he watched the burning ship drift toward the city; the crew had just abandoned her, taking their lifeboats to Dartmouth, on the opposite side of the harbour. "I have no idea."

And then, in an instant, the ship exploded.

Details would be pieced together as time went on: one ship, the Mont Blanc, was a French munitions ship carrying TNT, picric acid, gun cotton and benzol; the other, the Norwegian Imo, carried relief supplies for Belgium. Their collision caused the Mont Blanc to catch fire which ignited the explosives just before 9:05 in the morning on December 6th, 1917.

Those details were irrelevant in the immediate aftermath of the disaster.

America pushed himself up from the newly formed pile of rubble, and stared in awe at the devastation surrounding him. All around him buildings were collapsed and burning, laying in ruins that had once been homes and businesses. The area was surrounded with a thick, black cloud of smoke and debris. For several minutes, all he could do was stare as his brain tried futilely to process what had just happened.

Slowly coming back to his senses, he examined himself. He had many small bleeding cuts, and his shoulder hurt- he was fairly certain he'd landed on it. Looking at the destroyed city, he couldn't help but feel he'd gotten off lucky.

Several seconds later, he jolted and leapt to his feet.

"Oh God, oh God- Mattie!" He began pushing rubble out of the way, desperate tears running unnoticed down his face. "MATTIE!" He turned his head in all directions, looking for any sign of his missing brother. "Mattie, where are you?"

A soft groan some distance away sent him scrambling in the direction it had come from. Shoving aside more debris, he finally uncovered the nation, and forced himself to hold back a gasp at what he saw.

Matthew's entire body was covered in cuts, blood seeping from each one. Some were tiny scratches, but others were deep, painful-looking gashes. Some still had shards of glass embedded in them, and with a sick feeling Alfred realized they had come from the window his brother had been observing the harbour out of. One of Matt's arms lay at an unnatural angle. His clothes were ruined, shredded and stained red. Finally moving his gaze to Matthew's face, Alfred choked on a sob when he saw the blood dripping from Matt's eyes, sliding down his face like tears.

Canada groaned again, and America shushed him gently. "You're okay, Mattie, you're fine."

"A-Al?" Matt forced out. "Hurts..."

"I know it does, but you've gotta hold on, okay? The hero will look after you." Alfred swallowed thickly. "I promise."

* * *

Alfred woke up safe in his bed, blankets twisted around his legs, shaking and drenched in cold sweat. He hugged a pillow tightly to himself as he replayed the dream- memory- over again in his head.

The rest of his time in Halifax was still a blur; he recalled taking Matthew to get some help, lifting him carefully with his own damaged arm and stumbling determinedly until he'd arrived at a temporary hospital. He'd come back to find him covered in bandages, even over his eyes, and the sight had been heartbreaking.

The next day the city had been hit by a massive snowstorm, which made it difficult to find people in the heaps of rubble. The streets were nearly impassable, forcing relief workers to shovel so they could make it through. Matthew had gotten worse, shivering violently as the snow covered the area.

On the 8th, two days after the explosion, Matthew had been feeling slightly better, though he was still weak and bandaged.

"Al," he'd said from his tiny hospital bed. "They're saying something about a relief train from Boston?"

Though he couldn't see it, Matt could practically hear the grin in his brother's voice. "Oh, yeah. It's got some supplies and volunteers, you know, doctors and nurses and Red Cross people. I think they picked up some more people along the way, too. It got here this morning."

Matthew had been speechless, but the hug he'd engulfed Alfred in said everything.

Shaking his head, Alfred kicked the covers away and wandered down to the kitchen for a glass of water. Once he had it, he found himself sitting in front of the tree he and Arthur had decorated. Sighing heavily, he let his mind wander.

Once Matthew had been feeling well enough, the two of them left the city and returned to Alfred's house to recover. Matthew had protested, of course, but had finally caved. He'd still been exhausted and sore, not to mention blinded, and Alfred had all but confined him to bed. Though Matthew had appreciated the gesture- and he'd said as much- he'd soon become restless on top of worried. Lines were down in Halifax and news was scarce, leaving the Canadian to fret about his people.

England had stopped by not long into Matthew's stay with his brother, bearing a donation for the relief effort. Though he'd tried to hide it, Alfred could clearly remember the worry in Arthur's eyes when he saw Canada lying in his bed, looking impossibly fragile in his bandages.

"Matthew?" he'd said, taking a seat next to the bed. "Good lord, lad. Are you alright?"

"Arthur?" Matthew had swallowed and cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm okay. Or I will be. Thank you for coming, Arthur, you really didn't have to-"

"Oh, bollocks." He'd patted Matthew's arm gently over the blankets. "I had to see for myself you were alright. Gave me a right scare."

A small smile had appeared on Matt's face. "Sorry."

Arthur had waved him off before realizing Matthew couldn't see it. "Is your brother taking proper care of you? You can come back with me if you'd like."

"Alfred's been great, really. I appreciate the offer, Arthur, but I really can't leave. As soon as I'm well enough I'll be going back to Halifax."

Arthur had shaken his head. "If you say so. And what about your eyes?"

"They said I won't be permanently blind, but there'll most likely be some damage. I'll probably need glasses."

Sighing heavily, Arthur had said, "Well that's a relief, anyway. Rest up, lad, you'll be alright in no time."

* * *

Spontaneously, Alfred decided that maybe the problem was where he had the tree, and dragged it into another room, dropping another ornament or two in the process. Once he had it placed neatly in front of another window, he shook the needles out of his hair and observed it. Face falling, he found that it was no better. He briefly entertained the thought of moving it again, but finally sighed and scrubbed his hands up and down his face.

"There's nothing I can do about it now," he concluded glumly. "I'll try to get some sleep and figure it out tomorrow."

He returned to his bed, curling up on his side and clutching a pillow. He closed his eyes, but sleep was still a long time coming. He dreamed again of that long-ago December and its aftermath, and thankfully these dreams didn't wake him.

True to his word, Matthew had returned to Canada as soon as he'd been able. As he'd been about to leave, he'd pulled Alfred into a warm hug and said, "I really appreciate everything you've done for me and for Halifax. I'll do my best to thank you properly someday, I promise." Though the American had tried to protest- that's just what brothers _do_- Matthew was gone before he'd had the chance.

The relief effort took a long time; many injuries had to be treated, both long-term and short-term, and buildings had to be repaired and rebuilt- thousands had been left homeless. Though there could be no way to officially determine how many people had been killed, the number was at least 1600, and there had been around 9000 injured. A mass burial took place for the unidentified dead on December 17th. The 1917 holiday season was a sombre affair.

But as the months passed, the city slowly but surely regained a sense of normalcy. School and work resumed, though there were more students attending the School for the Blind and permanently disabled workers needed to be retrained. A new neighbourhood was built where the destroyed one had stood. Halifax wasn't the same, but it had survived.

While the relief effort was underway, a trial was held to determine who had been at fault for the disaster. The courthouse had also been damaged, and some key witnesses- such as the captain of the _Imo_- had been killed. Though some believed the Explosion was caused by German sabotage, the _Mont Blanc_, which had been carrying the explosives, was initially found to have caused the accident. The Supreme Court later decided that both ships had been equally to blame. Halifax Harbour changed its rules following the Explosion, and became one of the best-run ports in North America.

Months after the disaster, Canada finally found the time to attend a world meeting. He'd been overwhelmed at the attention as nations that normally didn't acknowledge him came to ask how he was and how the relief effort was going. Matthew had made sure to thank the nations that had donated money to the cause, including Australia, New Zealand and China, among others. He'd been touched by the generosity of his fellow nations. (He'd also found himself smothered in a hug from France, which he'd acted embarrassed by but had secretly been glad to receive.)

In December of 1918, Matthew had shown up at Alfred's door, holding a tall green tree. The Canadian wore glasses now, and beneath them, Alfred could still see the faint scars that marred his brother's face. His violet eyes were as bright as they'd ever been, though, and Alfred decided that was enough.

At his brother's confusion, Canada had explained, "This is from the people of Halifax, as thanks to the people of Boston for their help after the Explosion. There really aren't words to express their gratitude- or mine, for that matter- so we thought this might do a better job." Here he paused and took a breath. "We went through a really rough time there, Al, and you and your people- well. We were a little overwhelmed, to be honest. The aid was immediate, and..." He'd shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "I'm really not very good at speeches. Just- thank you."

America had digested Canada's speech, then grinned and pulled the other nation into an embrace, awkward because of the tree. "Always, Mattie."

Face buried safely in his brother's shoulder, Canada had said, "I told you I'd thank you properly one day."

They had decorated the tree together, and Alfred had proudly showed it off to anyone who asked to see it.

* * *

It wasn't until several decades later, in 1971, that the Christmas tree became tradition.

Seeing Matthew on his doorstep bearing another tree, Alfred had been just as surprised as he'd been in 1918.

"Mattie?" he'd asked. What's this?"

"A gift from the people of Nova Scotia." He adjusted his grip on the tree and went on. "I know the Explosion was a long time ago, but it was a big deal, and it took a long time for the city to recover. They haven't forgotten what your people did, and neither have I. This tree is a token of gratitude as well as a symbol of friendship between our people." Matthew had grinned. "That was cheesy, eh?"

Alfred had laughed. "Only a little." Then he'd pulled his brother inside with an arm slung across his shoulders.

* * *

America didn't feel much better the next morning, exhausted from tossing and turning all night. He passed the tree on his way to the kitchen, and seeing it renewed the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

For the next several days he was swamped with work, and several days later a few nations arrived for a small Christmas party. Though Matthew had been invited- as he always was- he didn't show up, which wasn't uncommon but did nothing to settle Alfred. England broke into his liquor cabinet not long after arriving, and when everyone was suitably distracted by alcohol and loud Christmas carols coming from the radio, Alfred took the opportunity to pull France aside.

Not knowing where to begin, Alfred blurted, "I messed up."

France's reaction was unexpected, though; instead of looking shocked or curious, he merely nodded knowingly. "I assume this has something to do with why Mathieu has two Christmas trees this year, non?"

Alfred's stomach clenched. "He does?"

Francis nodded and took a sip of his drink. "He wouldn't tell me why, said it was no big deal, but he was quite obviously upset about it."

"God, I really messed up."

"Care to tell me what happened?"

"Okay, okay- Look, Matt gets my tree every year, right?"

"Of course."

"Right. And this year Arthur brought me one, and I wasn't thinking, and..." Alfred trailed off and pointed behind him to the tree, the colourful lights looking particularly vivid as the sun began to set and the room dimmed. "I really didn't mean to hurt him, I swear. He showed up the same day he always does, and as soon as he saw it he left." He took a deep breath, trying to fight back his tears. "And when I went to bed all I could think about was the Explosion, and finding him like that, and..." He buried his face in his hands, taking a shuddering breath. "_God_, I really messed up."

Francis placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "That tree really means a lot to him."

Alfred nodded. "It means a lot to me too, honestly."

"I know. But it isn't always easy for him to find the right one every year- it has to be the right kind and the right height and a good colour and all that. He and his people take it very seriously."

Running his hands through his hair, Alfred let out a sigh as he processed this new information. "I need to go. I have to go talk to Mattie." He waved a hand toward where the rest of the guests were now harmonizing on a particularly terrible rendition of "Winter Wonderland". "Help yourself to whatever, just make sure the house is still standing when I get back." Barely pausing to throw on boots and a jacket, Alfred was out the door in seconds.

* * *

He drove for hours, making one strategic stop along the way before arriving on his brother's doorstep. As soon as the door opened, Alfred tackled his brother in a hug. Not sounding at all surprised to see him, Matthew chuckled and said, "Hi, Al."

"I'm so sorry, Mattie. I'm such an idiot, and I wasn't even thinking-"

Here Matthew cut him off, wrapping his arms around Alfred's shoulders and saying, "It's okay, Al, honestly. And I owe you an apology, anyway. I overreacted. Whether you put up the tree or not doesn't change what you did after the Explosion, but..." He shrugged. "I guess it just means a lot to me that you put it up and display it for everyone."

Alfred sniffled into his brother's shoulder, then said, "It means a lot to me, too. I swear it does. Because even though it reminds me that you got hurt, it also reminds me that you got better. Even though it was hard, and painful, and it took a long time, you came back stronger than ever."

They were both crying by this point, and Alfred took the opportunity to pull away and reach down to pick something up. "I made a stop on my way up," he said, voice still watery. "I hope it helps make up for what an idiot I can be." He presented Canada with a cardboard drink tray with two cups of coffee and a small, bright yellow box.

Matthew laughed. "You went to Tim Hortons?"

Alfred shrugged sheepishly. "They always know I'm American when I go there. I get funny looks when I order doughnut holes."

Matthew laughed again, louder, and dragged his brother inside. "That's because we call them Timbits. Come on, we can still catch the last period of the hockey game."

The next day they made up for their missed time by baking together and belting out Christmas songs along with the radio. The following year, the Canadian Christmas tree resumed its rightful place in Alfred's home.

* * *

Christmas stuff in October? Why not? :p

The prompt:_ Its a tradition that America forgets the reason to, Canada would give him a Christmas Tree and the two would spend the entire day together setting it up in America's house followed by lighting it. One year Alfred is given a Christmas Tree as a gift from Arthur, and Alfred forgets about Matt and decides to set up the tree. When Matthew arrives for a visit, he spots the tree but does not say anything but excuses himself and goes home. After the Canuck departs, Alfred seems to have terrible nightmares of finding a hurt Matthew amidst rubble with his eyes bleeding. And no matter where he puts the Tree in house it just never seems right._

_Points for,_  
_-Alfred learns from someone that Matt has set up two trees in his house._  
_-Alfred also learns the hard process that Matt takes in order to find 'the perfect' Christmas Tree for Alfred._  
_-A lot of people during the explosion ended up almost going blind because of glass to the eyes. If there is a part that is a flashback of an Alfred caring for an almost blind Matthew, or that the reason why Matt wears glasses is because of it that would be super._

Title comes from the song "Farewell to Nova Scotia", which has nothing to do with the story except that it's Nova Scotian.

The actual regulations for the tree, if anyone's interested: it has to be red or white spruce or balsam fir, 12-15 metres (40-50 feet), healthy and with good colour, medium to heavy density, uniform and symmetrical and easy to access.

This is my first Hetalia fic ever, so apologies if anyone's out of character or anything's weird.


End file.
